


there is blood on my hands and blood in her mouth

by aryasbitch



Series: but you're a king and i'm a lion-heart [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 9k of arya deserving better, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arya Stark-centric, Arya and Tommen Centric, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Consensual Underage Sex, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Nymeria is back baby, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Queen Arya Stark, Red Wedding, Smut, also 9k of tommen loving and respecting arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryasbitch/pseuds/aryasbitch
Summary: “My name is Arya Stark, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. In the name of Tommen Baratheon, King of Westeros, and myself, I sentence you to die.”
Relationships: Nymeria & Arya Stark, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Tommen Baratheon/Arya Stark
Series: but you're a king and i'm a lion-heart [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749847
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	there is blood on my hands and blood in her mouth

**Author's Note:**

> this is a long one ladies  
> title is from Pinterest one again

It's a full week after discovering she's with child that Arya actually tells Tommen. She wants to be sure she's actually pregnant, is all, but a visit to Maester Pycelle to confirm it would ensure the entire kingdom would know before Arya could even tell Tommen.

But there are too many tells for her to be anything but pregnant: the sickness that arises predominantly in the mornings, the slight tenderness to her breasts, and most of all, the small but firm swell that's grown in her stomach.

Arya finally admits to herself that she's with child four moons after becoming Queen, and guesses she's about a moon and a half along. By the time Sansa and Margaery depart for Winterfell, Arya guesses she is two moons along. And she knows she won't be able to keep it a secret for much longer.

A week after her sister and Margaery have left King’s Landing, Arya decides it is best to just tell her husband before he finds out on his own.

-

Tommen cannot help but gape at Arya, who continues to twirl her dagger in her fingers as if she is bored, as if she has not just told him she is with child.

“I- Is this a jest?” The dagger stops spinning, Arya looking up at him with a quirked brow. 

“No. Would you rather it was?” There is no accusation or hurt in her voice, only indifference. But her hand has come to rest atop her stomach, and that is enough to make Tommen hurry to her side, pressing his hands to her upper arms despite them shaking.

“No, love, of course not! I just wanted to be absolutely sure.” Arya nods once, a smile growing on her face as one grows on his as well. “And… _are_ you sure? That you’re really with child?”

“Well I haven’t had the Maester confirm it, I wanted to be the one to tell you. But all of the symptoms are there.” Tommen only nods, joy blooming across his chest as Arya brings one of his hands down to her stomach, a small and barely noticeable bump on her stomach. Tommen is sure he would have missed it had he not known to feel for it.

She’s with child. She’s said it, of course, but feeling the bump makes his heart feel as if it will burst out of her chest.

But he falters as he processes her last words.

“Symptoms? Which symptoms?” He doesn’t know much about pregnancy, truth be told. 

Arya cocks her head, counting off her list of experiences, “Throwing up in the morning, and I’m tired most of the time as well.” Tommen makes a noise of distress, but Arya only waves him off, unconcerned. “And of course there's the matter of tenderness.”

Tommen’s next look towards his wife is one of confusion. He understands the sickness she had mentioned, but not the pain. It makes guilt spread over him. He’s the reason she’s in pain, even if he doesn’t know where it hurts.

He furrows his brows further as he looks down at Arya. “What do you mean? Where?”

Arya only smirks as she brings Tommen’s hand up to her chest, placing it atop one breast. His breath falters in his throat, even after months of being able to intimately know the curves of her body. 

“Here, Your Grace.” Her voice is light, albeit breathy, as Tommen traces the curve of her breast. Yet the glint in Arya’s eyes is solely mischief, even as he leans down to press kisses along her neck, tracing them down to her collarbone.

When Tommen leans back up to press his lips to hers, she lets him push her down onto the bed, landing on her back with a soft huff as her husband chases her lips with his own. 

He trails his mouth back down to the hollow of her throat, her shoulder, to finally the swell of her breast. He glances up to her face, grinning at the sight of her head thrown back in pleasure, a soft moan making its way to his ears as his hand trails down to her thigh, slipping under her dress to find her center.

Tommen brings himself back up to her side, Arya’s lips immediately finding his, and moments later he slips inside of her, after she's grown wet and ready under his touch. His hand stays on her stomach the entire time.

-

When shouts and screams are heard outside of the Red Keep, so loud Arya and Tommen can hear from inside, Arya isn’t sure what to expect. Thieves or rapers, perhaps. The two rush outside, despite their guards' attempts to keep them from doing so, proclaiming it would be safer for the King and Queen to be away from the commotion.

“I won't allow my people to be in harm's way, no matter what it is that stands in my way. Now let us pass.” The guards obey Arya’s command, her and Tommen immediately breaking away to go to the front of the castle, guards trailing behind them.

Tommen lays a protective hand on the small of Arya’s back as they make their way down to the main courtyard, a habit he had picked up the moment he learned of her pregnancy nearly three weeks prior. 

They reach the courtyard in front of the Red Keep, and Arya and Tommen both freeze at the sight that greets them. A direwolf stands in the center of the courtyard, and what must be two dozen wolves stand behind her. 

The people around the wolves break out of their horrified cluster to briefly bow their heads in respect to the King and Queen before they return to keeping as far away from the wolves as possible.

Arya, however, pays no mind to the smaller wolves. Her attention refuses to stray from the direwolf at the center, even as Tommen whispers her name in confusion.

“Nymeria?” Arya asks, and from the corner of her eyes, she sees Tommen glance in shock between his wife and the wolf in question, understanding blooming in his eyes. She’s sure he’s wondering how he had missed that this was his companion not too long ago.

Nymeria pads up to him and Arya, stopping just short of them to nose at the Queen’s stomach. Arya laughs breathlessly as she realizes Nymeria must sense and smell the child growing within her. A moment passes before she sits back on her haunches, and Arya leans down slowly, kneeling alongside Tommen. She can look straight into the direwolves' eyes, even at this height.

Arya brings a gentle hand out slowly, pausing just above Nymeria's fur. When the wolf makes no move to step away, she sinks her hand into the fur, laughing once more in astonishment.

“It's really you, Nym. You’ve returned.” Arya spares a glance to the people watching with rapt attention, noting the awe slowly overcoming their features at the sight of her and her husband seated with a direwolf. 

The rest of the wolves swarm the King and Queen as Nymeria leans into Arya’s hands, some sitting back on their haunches beside the direwolf and some walking around the courtyard, smelling their surroundings. 

Arya only smiles at the sight and whispers, “You’ve come home.”

-

Following her return to King’s Landing, Nymeria is only seen by Arya’s side, and occasionally Tommen’s, despite their guards sending the wolf wary glances when the King or Queen’s back is turned. Arya catches one guard swallowing heavily one day as Nymeria simply stares up at him, and she has to force back a bark of laughter at the fear on his face.

It’s only after a few weeks of Nymeria being by her side that Arya realizes her wolf is pregnant. Her stomach’s swell is so small Arya can only feel it when she presses her hand against her wolf’s stomach. The realization that her child will grow up with a direwolf makes her grin.

Arya tells this to Tommen, and he only tells her that their child will have kittens as well, all of his kittens having grown into adults, with one being near due with a litter of her own. Arya knows this well enough, as all of the now-grown cats enjoy crawling all over Arya and Tommen in the middle of the night.

Sometimes she used to imagine they were Nymeria, back when she was just a pup. It made Arya feel as if a piece of Winterfell was with her. Though it grew quite annoying when the cats would jump on them in the middle of her and Tommen coupling.

The rest of the wolves from Nymeria’s pack spend their time alternating between strolling through the castle and patrolling the streets in the rest of King’s Landing. They give everyone a good scare no matter where they go, despite them being quite harmless other than when hunting in the woods for food.

Arya only thinks of how more at home she feels being surrounded by wolves. It's as if a part of the North is beside her, especially now that Sansa is gone.

-

At three and a half months pregnant, Arya refuses to let the child growing in her stomach slow her down. The swell of her stomach is hardly noticeable to the public, but after Nymeria nosing at her stomach after her return, gossip had begun to spread. 

In order to stifle it, she and Tommen publicly announced it a few days after, receiving plenty of congratulations from the smallfolk and members of the castle at the news of her pregnancy.

Ayana had shrieked with joy and pulled them both into a hug so large Tommen swears she cracked his back. Arya made sure to write letters to her family and Myrcella so they could hear the news from her rather than gossip, as well as Jon. She receives a letter from each of her friends and family, each congratulating her. 

Jon and Myrcella each promise to visit soon to meet the babe, her mother offers her tips on an easier pregnancy, and Sansa and Margaery each send a letter once again telling her “I told you so,” forcing Arya to remember how she had refused to admit she and Tommen harbored feelings for each other two years before.

Robb, Bran, and Rickon each send their own congratulations to her as well, Rickon promising to throw something at her the next time they see each other if she doesn’t name the baby after him. Arya laughs out loud at his threat, knowing full well that he would do so, no matter the fact that she's the Queen.

Arya stores all the letters in her and Tommen’s room, wondering how she got so lucky with her life.

-

However, luck runs out. Even for Queens and Kings.

-

It's a relatively peaceful day when an assassin is sent after Arya Stark-Baratheon.

She is standing at a large window in one of the many hallways, overlooking the city below her. One hand cradles the gentle bump of her stomach, a new habit similar to Tommen placing his hand along her back. 

Tommen, however, is most likely in the Great Hall, hearing petitioners or working with the small council. Arya had asked for the day off, just to have one for herself, despite her usual duty to and enjoyment of helping to run the Kingdom.

Now that she's with child, Arya tires easily, and Tommen had been all too agreeable to her taking a day off to relax. Arya had ordered her guards elsewhere as well, wanting to spend time to herself. So, now, here she is watching the city.

The feel of eyes along her head makes her nearly freeze in place, but she forces her body to stay relaxed and breathes steadily. Footsteps approach from behind, so soft anyone else most likely would have missed them. 

But Arya has been taught lessons on being quick and silent on her feet, and she can recognize it even years after Syrio being killed.

She pulls Needle on instinct, pivoting in time to bring it up and meet her attack's own drawn blade, the dull sound of clashing steel echoing through the empty hall. The man draws back his sword quickly, before thrusting wildly, aiming at her stomach.

Arya jumps back, the assassin's blade clashing with Needle once again. From there it's a flurry of badly aimed strikes on the man's part, his hits only meeting air as she twirls away from each attack. She’s able to slash across the back of his thighs, sending him sprawling to his knees with a shout.

She barely even thinks before plunging Needle through his back, the other end coming straight out of his chest. A low growl makes Arya pause and the man whimper in terror, both looking up to see Nymeria at the other end of the hallway.

She stalks towards them until reaching them, growling in the man’s face. Arya pulls Needle out of the man as her wolf does so, sheathing the dagger and taking a step back in one fluid motion. 

“Who sent you?” The man only whimpers once more, increasing in volume as Nymeria leans closer with exposed teeth. “I asked who sent you.”

The man only clenches his teeth, even as Arya tilts his head back and places her dagger at his throat. A bead of blood surfaces as she presses harder, but still the man remains silent apart from his cries. 

“Fine.” Arya rolls her eyes in frustration. She comes around to his front, leaning in to pat down his tunic, uncaring of Nymeria snarling an inch away from her face. Triumph fills Arya as she finds a small scroll within his sleeve, pulling it out. 

The man lets out a quiet sigh of relief as Arya steps back to read. She breaks the seal quickly, one of plain red wax. No house sigil is engraved in the seal. Her eyes graze over the words rapidly, reading silently.

_Your Northern whore of a Queen lies dead at your feet, as is her bastard of a child. I’m terribly sorry for the mess made from her death, but I wanted it to be painful. I wanted her blood to paint the walls of the Red Keep, her bones to shatter along the floors and scatter throughout King’s Landing from the force of impact. I wanted her child and womb ripped out of her body. I wanted it to be as painful as the pain she caused me. And now she is dead._

Arya turns cold eyes to the assassin in front of her, fury blooming in her chest. Whoever sent this wanted her child dead. No matter that they wanted to kill Arya, but the thought of her child being harmed brings a snarl identical to Nymeria’s to Arya’s face.

“Nymeria.”

The direwolf snarls at the sound of her name, teeth clacking together with the force of it. The man chokes on a sob, curling in on himself as much as he can. Nymeria turns her eyes to Arya in silent expectation, and Arya tilts her head in admission, permitting the wolf’s attack.

Nymeria pounces.

Arya looks away to survey the damage of the hall, unbothered by the man’s screams. She’s sure someone will come to find them soon with all the noise he’s making.

Blood does coat some of the walls, as the sender of the letter had hoped for, but most is the man’s rather than Arya’s. There's a bit smeared along the front of her dress, and her hands are sticky with it. The most is the growing pool on the floor beneath the man's body, Nymeria tearing at him with her claws and teeth. 

Just as the man’s cries turn wet, Tommen turns the corner with his guards, clearly having heard the screams. His eyes widen in horror at the sight that greets him: Nymeria standing over a pile of carnage with blood matting her fur, and Arya standing with nearly as much blood on her.

“Arya, love, what’s happened? Are you alright?” Tommen rushes to her side, panic and fury alike in his voice. He takes her in his arms as his eyes flit between her face and the rest of her body, one hand coming up to cup her cheek. His focus keeps returning to her stomach, something Arya doesn't miss, especially as he lays a gentle hand on its curve.

“I’m fine. We both are, I promise.” Tommen continues to fret as two of the guards begin to take away the body on the floor. “It was an assassin, but he never touched me.” 

She hands him the note clutched in her hand. Fury overtakes his concern as he reads, his lips curving into a snarl that reminds Arya of a wolf rather than a stag or lion. The King turns to the guards still in the hall with them.

“Where the gods were you when my wife was attacked?” He shouts, the guards only bowing their heads in respect and apology. Arya turns her head back to him, forcing him to lock his eyes with hers with a hand to his cheek. 

“It was my fault. I asked my guards to give me space for the day, I didn’t think of a potential attacker.” The fury barely wavers on Tommen’s face, though he leans into her touch. “Don't punish them for my mistake, my love.” 

The fury finally washes away to a gentle simmer in his eyes, and he turns to the guards and nods once to them. They nod back in respect, stating apologies and thanks to the King and Queen before escorting them back to their rooms.

Nymeria trails behind them, a quiet presence even as a few stray drops of blood fall from her jaws to the floor. The guards take their leave at the doors of Tommen and Arya’s chamber, Nymeria padding in behind them to lay by the fireplace.

When they reach their bed, Tommen turns her around to lean in and kiss her soundly, hands wandering to her throat, her hips, her stomach. 

Tommen takes her against the wall, one leg wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into her. Arya growls as he bites the column of her throat, one of his hands splayed protectively across her stomach. He grins and pauses his movements, causing her to snarl once more as he leans up to kiss her.

“You’re mine. And I’m yours.” She whispers to him, throwing her head back as her words make him resume moving with renewed vigor, Arya’s leg that was on the floor lifting up to wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back. 

“You don’t belong to anyone,” Tommen whispers against her breast, nipping at it as she mewls. But she grins at his words, his tone not resentful but full of lust and love because they’re true enough. 

Arya doesn't belong to anyone but herself.

-

Within a day after the attack, the entire Red Keep has heard of the failed attempt on the Queen’s life. How she fought back, how her wolf tore him to pieces. From there, whispers of _Wolf Queen_ spread throughout the entire kingdom, a new sense of admiration and respect filling the people of King’s Landing as they hear of Arya Stark defending herself and her unborn child.

A moon later, when nearly all of Westeros has heard of the assassination attempt, the whispers of _Wolf Queen_ only grow in volume. They call her The Night-Wolf, the She-Wolf, the Wolf of King's Landing.

Hundreds of miles away, Cersei Lannister pours a glass of wine with shaking hands.

-

Days following the attack, Tommen makes sure that Arya is never alone in the halls. Whether she is with him, her guards, or Nymeria, he refuses to let a repeat of the attempt occur. He knows it aggravates his wife to no end, to be so carefully watched, and he knows she can protect herself, but this is different from if it had occurred a year ago. 

A year ago, Arya didn't have a child growing in her womb. 

And now, she does, as is incredibly obvious with the growing bump along her middle. It’s small, as Arya is not even four moons along, but it is incredibly obvious to Tommen.

Maybe he’s just biased.

Either way, the thought of her or their child being harmed at the hands of an assassin freezes and sets his blood aflame at the same time.

Tommen can’t stop thinking of the sight of her following the attack, blood smeared across her body. She hadn’t been hurt, thank the gods, but only because she had Needle and Nymeria with her. What if she hadn’t?

“Who do you think sent him?” Tommen and Arya sit in the council room, Nymeria pacing the room. Arya turns her head at his question, sighing before answering.

“I’m not sure. The Starks and Baratheons both have many enemies, but the note never mentioned you being hurt, only me.” Tommen shifts in discomfort at her words. “I hate to say it, but there's only one very obvious choice who would want me dead and you safe.”

Tommen’s brows furrow of their own admission and he stares at her in question. Arya stares back unflinchingly, even as his eyes widen as he processes his wife’s words.

“She wouldn’t.” He shakes his head furiously, but doubt has already begun to creep into his head. Arya’s suggestion hurts him to think about, but it's greatly justified.

Arya only sighs once more, rubbing at the side of her face. “We both know she would. You sent her to Casterly Rock, but you told me how she thought it to be my idea. And she’s always hated me, why wouldn't she try and kill me?”

“I- I just hate to think that my own mother would try and kill my wife and child.” Arya nods in sympathy, breathing deeply as if in pain.

“I know. And I’m sorry to suggest it, love. It just seems the most plausible answer.” She sounds tired, and Tommen forces himself to pause and take her in.

The circles under her eyes are dark, and he knows she’s been having a hard time sleeping of late. She rubs at her stomach with one hand, but Tommen knows it's out of pain rather than affection at this moment. Arya loves their child, Tommen knows, but the pregnancy has tired her and forced her to slow down in most aspects of her life.

Tommen scoots his chair closer to hers, and Arya practically collapses into his arms when he embraces her, tucking her head under his own. He rubs his hand along her back, attempting to provide any comfort he can.

“Then we’ll send a guard to Casterly Rock to watch her. We’ll make sure my mother can’t do anything to our family.” Arya nods into his neck, and his heart breaks when he feels wetness against his skin. He desperately wants to brush her tears away, to sit with her forever until she feels better, but he knows confronting her tears will only frustrate her.

Instead, Tommen remains with one hand along her back and one arm tucked around her front, pulling him to her as much as he can, as close as he can possibly get her to his skin.

-

When Arya enters the council room, she expects her husband or one of the council members to be there. A guard had stopped her in the hall and told her she was expected to be in the room and had hurried off before she could ask any questions.

But now, the only thing in the room is Arya, Nymeria, and a single letter. Nymeria lays down lazily as Arya approaches the letter placed on the table. She immediately notes the bridge on the wax seal.

 _House Frey_.

Arya knows there is bad blood between her family and the Frey’s. Robb and her mother had made a deal with them when Robb had still been called the King in the North, but in the end, it was broken when he hadn’t upheld his end of the deal and had married Lady Talisa.

Robb is still happily married to Talisa, and Arya knows she is currently pregnant with their first child. She has yet to meet her brother's wife, but Arya hopes there will soon be a time for her to venture to Winterfell and see her family again.

Now, however, a letter from a Frey can bear nothing but bad news.

Arya breaks the seal after a deep breath, reading over the words quickly.

The letter crumbles beneath her shaking hands as she finishes reading, hands clenched into fists. Robb is dead, her mother is dead, Talisa and her unborn child are dead. House Frey had orchestrated a plot against them, had invited them to the wedding of her uncle and Rosilyn Frey and slaughtered them the moment Walder Frey’s daughter had left the room.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” Her voice is impossibly quiet, the waver in her voice making Nymeria perk up as she notices Arya’s distress.

She flattens out and reads the letter once more even as tears rapidly fall down her cheeks, and her breathing becomes choked in her throat. Her ribs feel as if they are caving in.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Robb had bent the knee the second he had heard Sansa and Arya were prisoners, and the last few years have been full of peace for the North. After Tommen and Arya took the Iron Throne, Sansa had been allowed home. Her family was supposed to be safe.

What the fuck had happened?

The letter is signed _Walder Frey_ , but under, in script so small Arya has to squint and brush aside her tears to read it, reads _The Lannisters send their regards. Cersei Lannister._

It has become incredibly hard to breathe incredibly fast. Arya can’t tell where her agony ends and her fury begins. The line is too blurred to tell. Her breathing picks up, and Nymeria wines behind her in distress.

Before Arya knows it she’s screaming, full of anguish and betrayal and _pain._ It tears itself out of her chest, ripping through her throat and heart. She folds in on herself even as she remains standing, fists clenching so hard she can feel the skin of her palms tearing and blood begin to dribble down. 

Arya pauses to take a breath, but it just feels as if her entire chest has been set aflame, so she screams again _._ She thinks her heart might be collapsing inside her body. 

Her mother is _dead_. Her brother is _dead._ His wife, who she never even got to meet, and their unborn child, have been killed. Arya is never getting them back. 

Her screams turn to wails as Tommen rushes in, having heard her first scream from across the castle and running to the source of it. Arya knows he doesn’t know the fate of her family, can’t, because it was just in the letter now crumpled on the floor. 

He doesn’t know why she’s sobbing and wailing but he gathers her in his arms and they fall to the ground together, his arms coming up to clutch her to his chest and as she collapses in on herself further, completely, entirely, broken.

**-**

Arya’s tears finally dry after what must be an hour of crying, and she sits back on her knees when they stop, her expression completely blank. Tommen whispers her name, asks what's happened for what must be the hundredth time, but she doesn't seem to hear it anymore than she had when she was screaming.

She continues to stare at the wall as she plucks the letter from the ground and wordlessly hands it to him to read. He uncurls with shaking fingers and flattens the crumbled paper against his thigh. 

A few stray drops of blood cover the paper, and he stares in confusion until his gaze wanders to Arya’s palms, lifeless in her lap and stained with her own blood.

Tommen reads the letter as quickly as he can, heart breaking and horror filling him with each word.

_Broken vow… a necessary evil… the head of his direwolf sits atop your brother’s shoulders… Lady Catelyn’s throat has been cut to the bone… her womb has been cut open… their blood is on your hands… From, Walder Frey… Cersei Lannister_

He nearly misses the sight of his mother's name at the bottom, his eyes darting over it. Then he freezes and looks back down to the bottom of the paper to see her name, her message of _Lannisters sending their regards_.

“Fuck…” Tommen’s voice is a whisper but it seems to echo throughout the silence of the room. Nymeria presses harder against his back, having curled around him and Arya the moment he swept his wife into his arms a near hour ago.

“I want them dead.” Arya’s voice makes his blood turn to ice. There is somehow no grief in her voice: it lacks any emotion at all. She turns her head slowly to meet his gaze, and the hollowness behind her eyes breaks his heart all over again. “I want to kill them.”

Tommen finally processes her words, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening impossibly further.

“Arya-- you can’t kill them, we can’t--”

“I can’t? They killed my family. Half of the Starks are dead because of them and your mother.” Cold steel overtakes her words, and Tommen breathes as evenly as he can. “They broke faith, slaughtered their guests in their home. That is an offense of its own.”

“Arya-” He wants to grasp her arms, to scream that she can’t endanger herself further against this madman or his madwoman of a mother.

“I want to kill them.” She repeats, and her hand shoots out impossibly quick, grasping his hand in a tight hold. Any other time her touch would be a comfort, but the blood on her palm is half dried and he wants to cry out instead, to shield his wife from the world, but then he looks back to the letter and to Arya’s face.

The Frey’s did this to her. The Frey’s and his mother slaughtered her family, forced this pain upon her. And so Tommen nods as his own eyes harden, and Arya breathes out in relief.

“They will die for this. But you can’t be the one to do it.”

“And why is that?” Tommen only gapes at her. _How can she ask that?_

“You are with child, for one.” Arya releases her hand from his grip, scoffing. “And two, there is no way I am letting you travel there, alone, to kill an entire house!”

“I can take care of myself! And I would never put our child in harm's way!” Their voices are both rising steadily, but Tommen can't help it. He feels fury at the Frey’s and his mother of course, but his concern for his wife’s safety far overpowers it. 

“I know you can! But-”

“But what? You don't trust me to do this, you don't trust me to stay safe!” Arya’s snarl matches her wolf’s, who has risen from the floor to pace a few feet away, her temper having risen as the King and Queen’s did.

“It's not about that!” He’s shouting now, but so is she. 

“Then what the hell is it about?”

“I don't want you to get hurt! I love you, I can't watch you get hurt again!” Arya stops, shoulders releasing all tension and eyes softening. Tommen, however, has to look away as tears build in his eyes, and he clenches his fists.

Memories of the assassin, of her father’s beheading, of every bad thing happening to her flash across his mind. How much of her pain has been caused just because of his family?

Tommen turns back as Arya’s hand cups on his face gently, stroking his cheek. She doesn't mention his rushed movements to wipe away his tears, for which he is grateful. Arya pulls him into a hug, and he all but melts in her arms, even now after screaming at each other.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to put myself or our child in harm's way, I just need to do this. I can't let Walder Frey spend another minute thinking he’s safe from harm.” Her tone has softened immensely, but he can detect the warning behind it. “We can’t let them think they’ll get away with this without consequences.”

Tommen only nods, however, accepting her words. “And what of my mother?”

Arya breathes deeply and opens her mouth to talk before he beats her to it.

“We have to kill her too.” Arya gapes, and Tommen nearly grins, though he’s sure it would come out feral and unhinged. 

“Tommen, she’s your mother.” The idea of Arya ever defending Cersei is laughable, and any other time he's sure he _would_ laugh, but now he only shrugs in resigned outrage.

“She wronged you as well. It doesn't matter anymore that she’s my blood, she’s a traitor and a madwoman for conspiring with the Freys.” Arya smiles at his words, though it is shaky as new tears form in her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Tommen nods once. 

“As long as you promise to be careful, as careful as possible, I will support you in taking down the Frey’s. Just let me handle my mother coming back to King's Landing, I’m sure she will be all too happy to see me again, even after sending a killer after you and now doing _this_.”

Arya only says, “We have to be smart about this.”

Tommen nods in agreement, and the two begin to plan.

-

It's decided that Arya will travel alone to the Riverlands on horseback, and Tommen will tell everyone she has grown tired from the babe and must be alone for some time. By the time people begin to question where the Queen is, Arya will be halfway to the Frey’s.

Arya had whispered news of her departure to her handmaiden Ayana, telling her just enough details of where she was going so as not to raise suspicion. Ayana agreed the moment she mentions the Frey’s: words had steadily spread of the Red Wedding, as many had begun to call it, and Ayana wants to see the Freys fall.

Though she had never met Robb or Arya’s mother, she had become one of Arya’s closest friends, and to have her support and discretion meant the world to Arya.

In King's Landing, Tommen will write his mother a letter requesting her presence and will tell her he has missed her and wants her home rather than in Casterly Rock. He and Arya both know this will bring her to King's Landing, especially if Tommen mentions something along the lines of Arya being too sick for Cersei to see her.

The night before Arya is set to leave, her and Tommen’s lovemaking is slow, both attempting to memorize each other's skin for what may be the last time. Tommen has all the faith in the world in Arya, but it's been made clear that the Frey’s are unstable.

They fall asleep entwined together, wrapped around each other as much as possible for what will be the last night for a while.

-

It takes Arya thirteen days on horseback to reach the Twins. She barely rests, only stopping a few times and sleeping in the woods to allow her horse to rest and hunt for food. Once, she swears she sees a few wolves in the woods, but she knows they’re only Nymeria’s pack watching over her.

Upon arrival at the Twins, Arya surveys the area. The two guards by the main gate are fast asleep, and it is far too easy for Arya to ride past them to the stables, where she ties her horse. Inside the castle itself, she finds the kitchens quick enough, where she finds servants hurrying about.

She stops the first one she sees, laying a hand on her arm. Arya notices how pretty she is immediately: she has dark hair, nearly black, and her eyes are large and green.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” The girl looks her up and down, but nods eventually, and allows Arya to pull into a nearby corridor, which is thankfully empty. “I’d like a job. Just for a short while.”

The girl scrunches up her eyes in confusion, and her expression nearly makes Arya laugh. “You want a job here? And why should I listen to your demands.”

Arya only smiles at her, a smirk forming.

“Because I am the Queen. My name is Arya Baratheon.” The girl’s eyes widen, darting over Arya’s figure quickly. She doesn't suppose she looks much like a queen at the moment; her dress is her plainest one to let her blend in, and she’s sure her hair is messier than usual. Arya hates that she has to use the title at all, but she has to bide her time wisely.

“Why should I believe you? You could be anyone.” Arya shrugs, unbothered, and pulls a small bag away from her waist.

“That’s alright, you don’t have to believe me. But I’ll pay you if you can get me a job.” She pulls out a handful of coins, handing them to the girl who stares at her as if she has grown another head.

“Are you really the Queen?” Arya nods once, and the girl seems to remember herself before dropping to a curtsey. “Then, of course, Your Grace. You can be a servant with me.” Arya grins, putting her bag back to her side.

“Thank you. What is your name?” The girl can barely look at her as she speaks, keeping her head bowed low.

“Cassandra, Your Grace.”

“Well, Cassandra, I insist you call me Arya. I consider you one of my friends now.” Cassandra stares up in shock, finally meeting her eyes. Arya gives her a warm look, hoping to calm the girl’s nerves.

“I could never, Your Grace. I fear it would be improper.” Arya only rolls her eyes and huffs, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“Well, fuck proper.” Cassandra drops her jaw in surprise but has to cover her mouth with one hand when she giggles. “If you can't do so out of comity, call me Arya so no one will discover my real identity.”

“Very well… Arya.” Cassandra smiles hesitantly, though it grows when Arya grins at the use of her name. “What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in King’s Landing?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. Though you’ll learn soon enough.” The servant girl nods, and together they enter the kitchen again. Arya squares her shoulders, breathing deeply, and prays her plan will work.

-

It only takes a few days for everything to come together. Arya spends her days in the kitchen, and her nights with Cassandra, who allowed her to share her room so she wouldn't be forced to sleep in the woods.

“I could never let the Queen sleep in the woods, Your Grace.” Cassandra had exclaimed the first night. Though she had learned to call her Arya when around the other servants, in the privacy she refuses to use anything but Arya’s proper title.

Despite Arya’s hatred for the Frey’s, she’s made quick friends with many of the servants. Most in the kitchen are girls, one as young as seven. Even after only a few days with the servants and cooks, Arya considers them friends, and swears to herself she will leave them with the rest of her coins before she leaves.

After three days of working in the kitchens, Arya hears of the feast that is planned to occur that night, as Walder has proclaimed he wants to once more celebrate the Red Wedding. The reason behind the feast makes her blood boil, but she reigns in her anger.

She needs to preserve it for the gathering, after all.

When she finds a spare moment, Arya escapes the kitchen with a jug of wine in her hands, moving as inconspicuously as she can through already familiar hallways. She continues until what she finds to be Walder Frey's room, though she knows he is not present in the room. 

His wife is, however, sitting on the bed and staring out the window. She doesn't even look as Arya enters the room.

“Wine, My Lady?” The girl nods and Arya pours a nearby cup with steady hands. The girl mutters her thanks, and Arya leaves when she nods once more. On her way back to the kitchens, Arya memorizes her face as much as she can. She wants to remember the girl, wants to remember every servant and cook and girl and boy who has been under Walder Frey’s unstable command.

Hours later, minutes before the feast is set to begin, Arya walks on steady feet until reaching the many jugs of wine. There is no one watching as she slips out a vile of poison, pouring it into each and every jug.

She takes a step back as more servants arrive, and she smiles at them as she recognizes them. Reila, Anera, Laisa, and Cassandra. Four girls who Arya has grown friends with over the past few days, all of whom now hold multiple jugs of poisoned wine. 

Arya grabs her own jug, and the five girls enter the hall.

Arya immediately notes the loud cheers of the men, and her face nearly turns to one of disgust at the sight of a young girl in the lap of one of the men, her face clearly showing her discomfort. She and the girl lock eyes, and Arya sends her a look that she hopes is one of kindness and sympathy.

She turns away from the girl as she nears the head table, hearing what must be the tail end of Lord Frey’s speech.

“-cut the throat of that Northern whore, cut off the head of the coward who called himself King in the North!” More cheers rise from the men, as does bile in Arya’s throat. “Most of you are proper cunts, but I’ll admit this was a fine moment from you lot.” 

Walder Frey sends Laisa a nod, and all five separate to begin distribution of the wine. Arya immediately sets for the head table, fast enough that she reaches it before one of the other girls does. She fills both Walder and his wife’s cup, though she leans into the wife’s ear.

“Do not drink the wine, My Lady.” The girl looks up in alarm, but Arya only nods before stepping back and remaining behind the head table.

“A toast!” Arya turns her gaze to Walder Frey, who raises his cup with obliviousness to the future carnage. His wife does the same, though she looks down at the red liquid before lowering it. “To the Freys! Who aided in the Red Wedding and the slaughter of House Stark!” 

He raises his glass, and downs his cup, along with the rest of the men in the room. He swallows once before ending his speech.

“You lot helped with the end of those Northern whores, the Starks! Here’s to you!” The cheer that rises is the loudest one yet, and Arya nearly smirks. The noise dies down as the men pause to drink once more, some finishing their cup and reaching for more wine.

“But you didn’t end the Starks, did you?” Arya’s voice cuts through the room, and nearly everyone turns to look at her. She steps forward, and in the distance, she can hear one man begin to choke from across the room.

She tilts her head mockingly as Walder Frey drops back down to his chair, though she can see fury begin to rise on his face. She speaks before he has the chance to.

“You left too many Starks alive. Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep are never safe.” Walder’s face turns to one of confusion, then to horror as Arya steps forward, leaning over him to grasp a knife from the table. 

She stands once again, and before Walder can blink she has the blade pressed to his throat. A few men rush towards her, but drop to the ground before reaching the head table, coughing and choking. Arya speaks loudly over the rising sounds of dying men, making sure the entire room can hear.

“My name is Arya Stark, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. In the name of Tommen Baratheon, King of Westeros, and myself, I sentence you to die.” 

With that, she slits Walder Frey's throat, blood spurting across the table.

The men continue to kneel over, dropping to the ground as they die off. Arya steps back from Walder Frey, his body collapsing forward without her keeping him up. His head knocks into the table before he bounces off, his body colliding into Arya’s before falling to the floor.

His front leaves a smear of blood across Arya’s dress, but she pays no mind as she continues to stare out at the crowd of growing corpses.

“For your involvement in the Red Wedding and slaughter of House Stark, I sentence you to die.” Arya’s voice is clear across the room. She looks down at Walder Frey once, his eyes blank and unseeing. 

“This is your penance.”

The last man falls to the floor, dead, and Arya surveys the room. The sight of the men, covered in blood and eyes red, only brings her frigid satisfaction. Even as she sees the look of horror over the surviving girls' faces, she can't feel anything but glee.

Arya finally turns to Walder’s wife after another moment of silence, and she sees the blonde is already staring at her. “In the name of the Iron Throne, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I proclaim you the Lady of House Frey. The Frey men are dead, clearly, but you are alive. And now you are left to rule the castle.”

The girl nods cautiously, and Arya steps down from the head table, making her way to exit the castle before a voice stops her.

“Your Grace.” Arya turns to Cassandra, who is looking across the room at her with a mix of horror and delight. “Thank you for your help.”

“And I thank you for yours.” Arya smiles at her, and turns, leaving the Twins and the massacre behind her. 

-

True to her internal thoughts, Arya leaves her money with the servants, only keeping enough coins so she can buy meals on the way home. It takes fourteen days to ride to King’s Landing, and Ayra is exhausted in both body and emotions by the time she reaches the castle.

The sight of the Red Keep fills her with joy, and Arya can't contain the smile that grows on her face. Her hand naturally comes to the swell of her stomach, so much larger than it was when she had left the Red Keep a month ago.

The guards recognize her immediately, even with dirt in her hair and blood on her dress. The guide her to the castle, keeping close, and Arya for once does not chastise their near proximity.

When Arya enters the Red Keep, the guards escort her to her room, telling her Tommen has been alerted of her arrival home.

That is made very clear when Tommen bursts into the room not even five minutes later, out of breath as though he has run across the castle. _Knowing him,_ Arya thinks, _he probably has._

“Leave. Now.” Tommen does not even spare his guards a glance as they bow at his command and exit their chambers, closing the door behind them. His eyes are locked only on Arya’s.

With three large strides, he is by her side, pulling her into his arms and kissing her in one motion. She can’t resist sighing into it, melting in his arms. Their lips move together fervently, with all the passion of a couple having been separated for a moon's turn.

Tommen pulls back as he seems to remember their circumstances, and his voice is full of hesitance as he speaks.

“The Freys. You killed them?” Arya nods, reaching up to tug him back to her, pressing her lips to his once more. She pulls back after a moment of hurried kisses.

“Every single once.” His gaze fills with lust at her words, and Arya has time to wonder just how she found a husband who gains in desire at the news of her killing an entire house before his arms pull her tighter to her chest.

He pulls at her dress from the back, tiring quickly at failed attempts to loosen the ties and simply ripping the fabric. It falls to her waist, her breasts exposed to Tommen’s gaze and hands as he pulls her binding from her chest as well.

He palms one breast as she lifts her hips to allow the dress to fall to the floor, falling back against the bed as her husband continues to caress and feel one tit, his mouth dropping to her other. Every nerve of her body sings with pleasure, even more so as his hand falls from her breast to lay on her inner thigh.

His thumb traces her skin, so close yet seemingly so far from where Arya wants him. He finally takes pity after a moment of her whining in frustration and his hand falls to her center, his fingers seeking her warmth.

Tommen finds her already wet, and he wastes no time in bringing a finger to her entrance. It's tight but soaked, and he slips in easily. She moans from below him, her fingers scratching at his back.

He pumps hard and fast, unable to do anything else but give in to his lust. He slips in a second finger after a moment, then a third when Arya groans loudly. When she grows to be soaking, he pulls out his fingers, smiling at the noise of frustration that escapes her throat. 

They reach for his breeches at the same time, working together to unlace them as quickly as possible until his cock springs free. Arya palms him, stroking up and down before tightening her hold, eliciting a groan from his throat.

Tommen looks down to see her smirking up at him, and he brings his lips to hers, an action he’s done a thousand times before. When he enters her a moment later, they moan together. Arya wraps one leg around his waist, the other flat against the bed as Tommen thrusts shallowly. 

She mutters his name as he quickens his pace, and he reaches down to grasp her leg, hiking it up further, opening her legs wider for him. With time, his thrusts grow sharper, and Tommen brings a finger to the nub at Arya’s cunt, pressing against it to help her release.

Her breath sharpens after several rubs against the mound, and she comes unbound with a sharp sigh. Tommen jerks inside of her once, twice, and he too comes, pulling out to lay beside her. She lays her head against his shoulder, and he wastes no time pulling her further to him, one hand coming to rest behind her shoulders.

The other splays across her stomach, round with five moons worth of life inside her. Tommen cannot even resist grinning at her stomach, and Arya too smiles at his touch. With his hand still on her stomach, he pulls his wife closer to him, her stomach round with their babe between them.

-

Word spreads rapidly of the fall of House Frey, and the word of who brought down the house comes with it. A new sense of fear and respect alike grows in the people of Westeros, in both the common folk and high lords and ladies.

They all hear of Queen Arya bringing down the house who killed her mother and brother, who avenged House Stark and delivered justice herself. 

_The avenger of the Red Wedding_ , they call her, adding to her already long list of titles.

The King and Queen are pleasantly surprised to hear of the lack of animosity regarding the issues. The common folk don't much care about the fall of house Frey, and those who do see it as the Queen giving justice as she saw fit. 

The Lords and Ladies of Westeros see it as their rulers doing their duty to deal with traitors, to deal with the house who slaughtered their guests, not to mention the guests being of House Stark.

In the end, the only ones left to care about House Frey’s death are dead themselves, as all the Frey’s had been slain under Queen Arya’s careful watch.

Arya makes sure to write to her surviving family, telling Sansa and her brothers that justice had been served to House Frey. In return, Sansa tells her _good_ , that she had cheered when she had heard her sister had killed them.

Bran and Rickon thank her as well, Rickon saying he wished he had helped.

With the fall of their mother and Robb, Arya knows that the title of Lady of Winterfell has fallen to Sansa, as well as Margaery Tyrell. They had wed nearly right after returning home to Winterfell, and though Sansa had used to dream of being a queen or a lady, she would gladly never be one again if it meant one more day with her mother and brother.

-

The King and the Queen stand outside the Sept of Baelor and call for Cersei Lannister's head. She is brought to them crying and begging for her life, but neither will listen to her pleads. 

She is proclaimed a traitor, for conspiring with Walder Frey in order to slaughter House Stark.

The crowd calls for her head, calling her a traitor, and all Arya can think of is her father, screaming for him in the crowd while her sister stood in her very place and watched him die.

But she turns to Tommen, and his eyes are steel. And Myrcella had written to her, telling her that her mother deserved her fate after helping kill Arya’s family. There is no one left for her to plead for her life: her two living children will not save her, Tywin Lannister had died moons ago, and her brothers won't pledge for her life, especially not when scattered across Westeros. 

The executioner swings his sword amidst the screams of Cersei and the cheers of the crowd. Her blood spurts and her breath stops. Her head rolls away from her fallen body, and Arya can only watch with disdain.

The kingdoms hear of Cersei Lannister’s death with time, and word spreads of what happens when you harm King Tommen or Queen Arya.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?


End file.
